


Wishes and Wants

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Christmas, Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9008539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: Two short Christmas ficlets! Aaron copes with Robert's mince pie addiction. On Christmas Eve Robert's reminded of something he wants to see Aaron wearing again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to all of you in the Robron fandom, especially those who leave me lovely kudos and comments :)

**Mince Pies**

 

There are beige crumbs on the lapel of his jacket. He has coffee breath when they kiss goodbye. It’s not even a lingering one. They’ve done all that an hour ago. Robert has the appetite and the insatiability that means saying goodbye is never a one-time thing. It’s three times ( _first with sex, second with heavy petting and an attempt to undress again, third for real with as much resistance as is humanly possible when engaged to a man like Robert Sugden_ ).  

The other thing he can’t get enough of is apparently mince pies.

His gran used to make them, he said. Soft buttery pastry and the filling preserved for months in brandy before it even touched the baking process. Shop bought ones just weren’t the same. And yet, they were on their forth box. They were only mid-way through December.

“Oh, are you going to David’s? Before you head to the yard?” Robert says, a stilted casualness to his voice. He’s been planning this. “Only I think we’re out of…”

“You’re joking, me?” Aaron says, jerking on his coat whilst trying not to drop the two satsumas in his head. “I only bought a box yesterday.”

“What?”

“Mince pies! We’re out again?!”

“It’s Chas! She keeps having them for breakfast.”

Aaron gives him a pointed look. “She only does coffee before midday, you know that as well as I do.”

“Charity then. I caught her earlier, mitts in the drawer.”

“Oh right. And Liv, she got a sudden craving has she too?”

“Maybe. Now that you mention it.”

Aaron walks over to him, unable to avoid the slight skip the superiority of being right has given him. He runs his finger along Robert’s lapel, flicking sugar and pastry to the floor, and leans up on the balls of his feet to gain a bit of height on him.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

He grins, placing a noticeably sweet and brandy-tinged kiss to the corner of Aaron’s mouth. The coffee isn’t so noticeable now that Aaron realises what he’s been having for breakfast.

“So,” Robert says, pressing his hands against Aaron’s waist. Goodbye number four, five… _He waits for it, the shift of weight, the press against the kitchen counter and the suggestion of upstairs, or later, a quick thrill when the scrapyard’s quiet…_ “ _Are_ you going to David’s first?”

 

**Stay Another Day**

The music channel’s on, left on from a countdown of the year’s best songs. None of them were really watching in that Christmas Eve heaviness of stodgy food and anticipation. Chas always called for a take-away on Christmas Eve – usually Chinese unless she could be persuaded otherwise.

“There’s this great little Thai just off the Hotten ringroad,” Robert tries, but Chas’s finger is already on _Mr China House_ in her contacts – she already knows the numbers of the food she wants off by heart. Aaron doesn’t have the heart to tell Robert than his dreams of Pad Thai aren’t going to be fulfilled. Not this year anyway. Next year they can start their own traditions. Christmas Eve next year. Lager and lounging in front of Die Hard. He can’t picture it, but he can feel it, springing down every nerve like a frost on Christmas morning.

Now the Chinese is just greasy silver trays spread out across the table and prawn cracker crumbs between the cushions on the sofa. Liv waited to see what was number one on the countdown before heading upstairs, and Chas decided they would all have a whiskey night-cap, before she and Charity dragged themselves off to bed, bemoaning all men.

Now the TV plays Christmas songs ( _50 of the BEST Festive Hits EVER!)_ and Robert slumps down beside Aaron, handing him another can (because now they’re this bloated, why stop?). They _cheers_ it, and lick the spillage from their fingers and Robert leans in, making a tutting-groaning-wriggling sound until his lips can just brush close enough against Aaron’s cheek.

“Geddoff,” Aaron says, teasing, wiping the sleeve of his sweatshirt over the wet kiss mark.

“Christmas is all about giving.”

“Yeah, you tried that line _last night_ , remember?” (It had been a _very_ good night.)

Robert settles back into the cushioned crook of the sofa, smile you could drive a bus through. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Aaron scoffs and then concedes, a little smirk peeking behind the ring pull. Robert was a very grateful receiver afterall. They fall into a comfortable silence as the next song begins, a black background and a rhythm of tumbling snow. Three men in white furred hoods, shot in black and white, and that familiar nineties echo of voices.

Aaron shifts, fingers half-twitching on his knee because – fuck – he knows what’s coming. He can feel it in the air. He can feel the sofa dip and shift and Robert’s gaze travelling from TV screen back to him.

“Aaron,” he says. It’s already there, low and suggestive, like a current bristling the air. “Do you still have it?”

“What?”

“The costume.”

Aaron stares ahead, grimaces like he’s no idea what Robert means. Of course he remembers how Robert eyed him up and down in the pub that night, that Christmas Eve two years ago at Andy’s Stag. How he’d hated him and wanted him in the same thrilling fire. How Robert had said nothing, not a quip, not a tease, but had given him this one singular look. He hadn’t been able to swallow. He hadn’t been able to walk straight. Even Adam took the piss, saying he was a lightweight. But they’d walked back to Butler’s in the cold and all Aaron could think of was how Robert Sugden had completely undressed him with his eyes, in that one intense moment.

“ _That_ costume,” Robert says, pointing at the screen.

He tuts, elbowing Robert in the side to snatch the remote off him and change the channel, but Robert steals it from his grip, holds him by the wrist and pins him into the dent of the sofa wearing a smile that makes Aaron feel naked.

“Don’t you think you’d have noticed if that coat was in the wardrobe?” _Our_ wardrobe, he thinks but won’t say out loud.

Robert gives his shoulders a little teasing shrug and leans his gaze right in, focused on Aaron’s mouth. His voice is slicked - thick and dark – with the same intensity he possesses in bed. “Yeah, I’d have noticed. I’d have had you in it…”

“What you on?” Aaron says, shaking his head and the transfixed little laugh puffed out with it. Robert’s hand slides up and across his chest.

“What about the tight white t-shirt…?”

“You want me to wear _a t-shirt_?”

His thumb runs across Aaron’s nipple like a shiver of electricity.

“Nineties boybands, really?” Aaron says, glancing up at him, the weight shifting as Robert climbs, from sitting, to kneeling, to straddling Aaron’s lap – the height of him warm and dizzy.

“No. Just you,” he says, stopping speaking to kiss Aaron’s mouth. “But about this tight t-shirt…”

 


End file.
